


Roger Roger

by stuvren



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Battle Droids, Droids, Gen, Killer Robots, Nature, Nature Versus Nurture, Robot Feels, Robots, my machine son, robot finding hope + birds kink, star wars prequels
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-22
Updated: 2017-12-20
Packaged: 2018-06-03 19:12:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6622861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stuvren/pseuds/stuvren
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A battle droid comes to understand his place in the galaxy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. VON-324(P)

Few sentient species had ever come across the forest. It was perhaps one of the few places left in the galaxy completely unmarred by the war between the Galactic Republic and the Confederacy of Independent Systems. Trees climbed high into the sky, close enough together that their branches had become interwoven. Shrubs with bright blue flowers sprung from the earth. Tiny rodents bounced between bushes, gathering seed into greedy mouths. Birds dotted the overhanging branches, singing to one another. The forest was tranquil, and safe. Any planet the conflict touched would inevitably find its flora scorched and crushed, its fauna depleted and scattered. And it seemed that no planet was immune to the violence. The B1 Battle Droid marched through the woods, tranquillity be damned.

The rodents kept gathering and the birds kept singing, however. No trees fell in the droid’s wake. It was only a single battle droid, after all. Hardly worth worrying about for creatures so used to peace. Indeed, this battle droid was ill-equipped to interrupt. He carried no blaster, and his left leg emitted a low hiss with every methodical step. His metal carapace was covered in dirt and mud, and was dented and marked like the trunk of an ancient tree. Nothing like the pristine sheen of a droid off Dooku’s assembly lines. Faded blue paint marked his head, chest, and extremities. He was built to be a pilot droid, but he was a long way from any ships.

The droid was designated VON-324(P). VON for the ship he was assigned to, and 324 for the number in which he was pulled from the assembly line. (P) suggested his role as a pilot, and he was marked with blue in kind. However, he went by Von whenever asked. He found it was much less of a mouthful for organics, and it helped them to ask fewer questions. Too many questions led to a lot of anger, in Von’s experience. Kind people quickly soured on learning he was a battle droid. Republic or Confederacy, responses tended towards hostility. Von felt these issues were best resolved if they never discovered he was a battle droid in the first place.  

He’d acquired a number of tricks in that regard. A plain brown headscarf, which he could wrap around his head and neck and conceal the fact he was a Battle Droid. Provided, of course, that he also wore the clothing he permanently borrowed from a laundry on Dantooine. Pants, shirt, jacket, belt, gloves, boots. All in shades of brown and tan. Wearing his full outfit, Von found his metal carapace completely concealed from any watching eyes, so long as he kept his head down. His long, beak-like face could be exposed if stuck his nose where it didn’t belong. Pair this with a voice modulator that made him sound less like a B1, some credits to get him where he needed to go, and a well-founded fear of any organic with too much interest in him, and Von managed to travel the galaxy.

Right now, however, it was all stored in the thick black bag that clung tight to his back. The bag would have been too heavy for most organics of Von’s size, but B1 Battle Droids packed a surprising amount of strength into a skeletal frame. The clothes only took up a small part of the backpack, jars comprising half, tools and trinkets taking up the rest. A small solar battery that Von had rigged to connect to his power supply took prime position at the top of the bag. The solar panel peeked out, drinking in the sunlight. A cable ran through the length of the bag and into Von’s midsection, keeping him fully charged. When there was no sunlight, he could rely on the battery and his own personal reserves to last him a fortnight. Longer than a fortnight, he was in danger of shutting down. A problem he would not likely resolve on a planet empty of sentient life.

Von stopped, pulled the bag off his back, and reached inside. The bag was meticulously organised. Droid programming strongly encouraged order. He pulled out a small jar filled to the brim with seeds. His bag was full of seeds, as well as leaves and flowers. Anything organic and new and easy to fit in a jar, Von took with him. He often set out all his jars in front of him and stared for hours, endlessly fascinated with the contents. Pulling the top off the jar, he clumsily gathered some seeds into his palm with two awkward, flat fingers. Von stretched his arm outwards, seeds facing up to the sky, and waited.

It took one hour and thirty four minutes of complete immobility before Von got what he wanted. A small sparrow, brown and green, fluttered onto his arm. It was tense, ready to take flight at any untoward motion. But after a minute, the sparrow calmed, and made its way to the seed. As it feasted, it sung, and as it sung, more sparrows came. Soon Von’s arm was manned by six sparrows, with more surrounding him in the trees. A cacophonous din of eager birds, all waiting for their turn. Von knew these seeds were popular with birds on many planets, and these sparrows were no exception. He was quite content to stand in silence with his newfound friends.

Minutes later, when the seeds were all gone, so too were the sparrows, back off to their revelry in the trees. For Von, however, any minutes he could spend with birds was precious. He drank in every second, and was not offended at their abrupt exit. It wasn’t particularly common for B1s to be fond of birds. As far as Von knew, he was the only one who had ever paid close attention to a sparrow. Von was unlike most other battle droids though. When the Vicissitude crashed on a barren moon, he was the only survivor. Back then, he didn’t care much for birds either. 


	2. The Vicissitude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A strike force of Clones works to disable a legendary Separatist dreadnought.

The ship had managed to slip off to a nearby system, heavily damaged and making a beeline for Separatist space. Its hyperdrive was destroyed, but there was still a chance of escape. This could not come to pass. The _Vicissitude_ was a menace, renowned for striking at weakened Republic ships after major battles. Usually, a Separatist dreadnought that stayed out of the thick of battle would be welcomed. But the _Vicissitude_ was a horror, leaving veteran Clones looking over their shoulders for weeks after they’d safely returned home. Far too many stories had been told of narrow victories turned into crushing defeat when the _Vicissitude_ arrived. It was a psychological weapon as much as a physical one. It would be destroyed.

The Jedi had snuck into the ship during the conflict, jumping into a small cargo crate to avoid coming up as suspicious on any scans. Filled to the brim with droids, tanks, and weaponry, her presence would hardly be noticed. The ship was badly damaged, fleeing from a failed assault on the Dantooine fleet. The Jedi figured this may well be the first time it had lost a battle. If it made it back to the Confederacy, this would all have been for nought. More ships, more Clones, destroyed in more opportunist attacks. Unacceptable.

The cargo hold had deteriorated as the ship escaped. She could feel her crate heating up, as fires started all over with nobody to stop them. It was a necessary discomfort, if her plan was to succeed. The Jedi held a tracking beacon. Her Padawan had the signal.

\---

The Padawan slipped in from hyperspace near the _Vicissitude_ with a strike force of Clones. Drifting close to a nearby moon to avoid notice, the dreadnought looked to be in extremely bad shape. Several of the sleek, rounded plates encasing the ship had been blown off, and the rest were fractured and billowing fire. Half of the engines at the rear of the ship were disabled, and no turbo laser fire came in response to their arrival. The ship seemed unable to respond to external threats. The Padawan wasn’t sure if finishing it off was even necessary. Nonetheless, the plan was clear. He would get inside the ship, unbox his Master, look into capturing the general in command, and get back home. His Clones would disable the engines and ensure the _Vicissitude_ began spiraling into the moon.

He led Gold Team, helmed by CT-1455. Nicknamed “Silk” for the grace with which he flew, he was one of the finest pilots the Galactic Army had to offer. Hence his special assignment to such a vital mission. “Silk,” said the Padawan. “Ready to roll?”  
“As always, sir,” replied Silk, voice crackling through the comlinks.  
“Good. Smash those engines and get out of here, we’ll make sure to follow you.”  
“If you’re not behind us when we’re finished?”  
“We will be, Silk. Focus on those engines.”  
The group split, Gold Team bearing down on the engines and the Padawan heading for a nearby entrance to a hangar bay.

On landing, the Padawan assessed his surroundings. The inside of the _Vicissitude_ didn’t look any better than the outside, although it was still technically in one piece. Life support remained operational, meaning there was internal gravity and oxygen. Debris littered the floor throughout, mostly crushed vulture droids and fractured hull segments. No active battle droids in sight. The Padawan leapt from his ship and ran towards a nearby blast door. He knew where to find the cargo bay, given his Master’s tracking beacon. Navigating the disintegrating architecture of the ship would be the hard part.

Four blast doors and an elevator later, the Padawan had reached the cargo hold. A sense of urgency propelled his movements, give his Master was locked in a crate in a dying dreadnought. His Master obviously didn’t think he arrived fast enough. She stood by a busted crate, dusting soot from her robes.  
“Padawan. You were close to having me cremated in advance.”  
“Apologies, Master.”  
“No need. Kept things interesting.”  
The pair, thoroughly dusted, examined the cargo bay. Given the amount of damage to the _Vicissitude_ , it was a miracle life support was still operational, but this would not be the case for long. Reunited, the pair would seek out the command centre, looking for the organic commander of the ship.  
“We should hurry after the commander, Master. This ship is on its last legs,” said the Padawan, stepping towards the door.  
“Unnecessary. All the escape pods have launched, and the ship has no record of anybody remaining on board besides us.” The Padawan nodded, then brought up his comlink.  
“Silk, update?”  
“Slight hitch, sir. We can’t seem to do enough damage to shut off the main thruster. The ship is in the moon’s orbit on a downward trajectory, but no guarantee it can’t escape.” The Padawan looked to his Master. She frowned, and paced a few steps towards the door.  
“Come, then. There is virtue in thoroughly blowing things up,” she said. The Padawan followed, and they headed for the aft of the ship.

\---

VON-324(P) was one of six hundred pilot droids assigned to the _Vicissitude_. Specifically, he operated in maintaining the primary thruster of the ship. Though the ship was severely damaged, there was still work to do in keeping the thruster running. B1 battle droids were uniformly designed with rudimentary AI, though this was overridden for many units through connections to an external processor. In the case of the engine room, all units were connected to a mainframe which dictated their roles and actions.

VON-324(P) had detected the severe damage to the ship, as had all the other droids still operating. It was hard to miss, but the mainframe continued to direct them into repairing failing systems. The mainframe was tasked only with continued engine operation. Destruction of droids was to be avoided, but often inevitable given their work on massive war machines capable of light speed. Given the catastrophic failure caused by the Republic attack and the continuing efforts of Gold Team, many droids had been destroyed, melted and crushed and electrocuted. For the Separatists, the loss of a dreadnought and its 1.5 million battle droids was a major economic hit. However, it would be a bigger expense to redesign their entire B1 system in order to preserve individual B1 units. Maintenance and repair would continue until the destruction of either the mainframe, or the droids themselves.

VON-324(P) had been assigned to repair damaged coolant pipes in the hallway outside the main engine room. His previously pristine chassis, once tan with blue paint, was now mostly blackened by soot and oil. Amid the chaos, he was surprisingly undamaged, beyond his singed extremities. He was the only droid mobile enough to be assigned to activities outside of the room. As such, he set about mending entirely ruptured coolant pipes. Each small repair led to a split somewhere else, but the mainframe would not allow VON-324(P) to understand the futility of his work.

\---

Master and Padawan rounded the corner. They had reached the main engine room, and needed only jam up the final thruster before making their escape. An oil-covered droid stood in the hall, working at an open panel in the wall. The Master strode forward and cast out her hand, using the Force to bowl the droid into a far wall. It slumped down to the floor, disabled.

The Padawan stepped past the Master, and turned into the engine room. Red lights flashed, indicating critical failure, though the turbine continued to roar. Droids were still trying to work at terminals or stop fires despite being pinned beneath rubble or having lost most of their limbs. Most, however, lay immobile, collapsed after immense damage to vital systems. The Padawan assessed the engine.  _Silk was right in his caution_ , thought the Padawan, noting that the engine was in good enough shape to direct the _Vicissitude_ back to Separatist space. The engine was a large cylinder, extending from the engine room to outside of the ship. It was a vast assortment of panels and hoses tubing fluid in and out. The most vital component, however, was a spinning turbine located in the middle of the back wall. The Padawan noted a short section of metal girder on the floor. Using the Force, he guided it into the air, and then into the spinning vanes of the turbine. It caught, drawing a violent screech from the suddenly frozen turbine. If it were possible for the warning lights to flash redder, they did so. The Padawan turned to his Master, who gestured towards the exit.

\---

The return trip was faster, if only because the Master propelled them ever quicker with the Force. The _Vicissitude_ was crumbling around them. Its commander had escaped, but without her ship she would be hard pressed to do any damage for a long time. Master and Padawan scrambled into a starfighter, and zipped off after Gold Team.

Gold Team was abuzz as the Jedi re-joined them. They had taken down a crown jewel in the Separatist fleet, and many more weary and injured Clones would safely make their way back to Kamino as a result. The comlinks were jubilant, and promises of drinks were made as the group prepared to enter hyperspace. Looking back, they could see the _Vicissitude_ listing towards the barren moon. Its engines were dark, and the fires across its breadth had begun to peter out. Gold Team did not have to wait and see it torn apart by atmosphere and gravity. They zoomed off back to Coruscant.

\---

VON-324(P) lay immobile. He had run diagnostics immediately after the robed organic sent him into a wall. Surprisingly undamaged, except for the broken motivator which controlled all of his movements. The hall was all smoke, born from the recently destroyed engine. Gravity control had long been destroyed, but the droid was pinned by the speed at which the _Vicissitude_ approached the moon. The wide, curved walls of the dreadnought had developed a hint of red, as atmospheric pressure massively increased the temperature. All systems aboard the ship had failed. It was a large titanium husk, plummeting towards extinction. The ship was likely never going to make it far, even before the additional attacks that crippled the final engine.

Battle droids were programmed with a survival instinct, and so VON-324(P) was afraid of what came next. He was one of the last droids active on the ship. Thousands had been destroyed in combat, and those that lay inactive in cargo holds would be when the ship finally crashed. The mainframe was destroyed, so  VON-324(P) could no longer access ship diagnostics. He didn't need to. There was no doubt that the __dreadnought was racing towards destruction. As the nose of the _Vicissitude_ met the dusty green rock of the moon, it began to crumple. VON-324(P) was thrown violently, smashing into the opposite wall of the ship.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Feedback always appreciated.


	3. Directives

The _Vicissitude_ was in ruins. Fractured pieces of hull plating split open on the moon’s surface, revealing coils of wiring and long, bent support beams within the gashes. The wreckage spread far, leaving sections of jutting green rock a rarity. Bodies of battle droids, in various states of wholeness, could be seen throughout. Somehow, VON-324(P) had found himself curled in the remains of an engine. Battered around by the crashing behemoth, but still operational. He lay facing out towards the barren moon.

His focus was on anything resembling a communications network. Antennae, operational monitors, any cohesive nest of circuitry, all hinting at hope amongst the silver expanse. He looked on them for hours, puzzling through his next directive. In the event of a major ship calamity he had three procedures to work through:  
  
1\. Secure the safety of allied organics.  
2\. Assess and destroy further threats.  
3: Report to the Confederacy.  
  
There was no life on the moon. Nothing even moved. All organics on the ship had jettisoned before the crash, and the Republic was nowhere in sight. Contacting the Confederacy and making a report was his next step. Of course, if he could somehow find or rebuild a communications array. If he could move at all.

\---

VON-324(P) lay idle for days. He scanned the horizon repeatedly, so long as there was light. Each section of the ruins was scrutinised for even the possibility of functioning communication systems. He was too far away for any of it to really matter. It only took VON-324(P) an hour to scan all the land he could see the first time. The moon was pitch black for much of its rotation, with only a few hours of sunlight. Nothing changed.

VON-324(P) had never been left unoccupied in his entire life. He always had something to refuel or repair. He was built to do so. He’d scanned the same sectors over and over, for hours on end. Even if he found something of interest, his body wasn’t going anywhere. VON-324(P) thought of his power cells, near full, a week or more of energy. A week of scanning the same debris, with only the occasional sounds of the ship settling closer to the moon to accompany him.

VON-324(P) scanned the over broken battle droids a thousand times, agonising over dented torsos and displaced limbs amidst silver muck. They were intermittent tan spots, a stray arm or leg, a torso jutting up from a crevice. At first, they were part of the background, sections of his world definitively not communications tools. But after hours and hours? He stared at a droid’s head, separate from its body, black with burns and soot. There was no way of knowing if this was a droid he shared the engine room with. But it reminded him of them, of the other droids whose minds he shared. VON-324(P) had never really been alone, not like he was now. 

\---

The sun was out. The landscape was still silver. There were still green rocks. There were still dead droids. VON-324(P) couldn’t even move his head to get a different angle. He still felt alert, processed each drab square metre of the moon with as much precision as he had minutes after the crash. VON-324(P) could recite the details of every bit of the wreckage he saw by now. Not that anyone would have the chance to hear it.

The ship settled behind him, the twisted metal grinding together and then slipping to embrace the green moon. It was the most sound there had been in days. VON-324(P) liked the noise. Any unique experience was a blessing. The crunching metal grew louder behind him. Followed by a voice.

“Hey! Over here!” shouted the voice. Organic. Two gloved hands came down on VON-324(P)’s shoulders, and drew him up from the wreckage. “What about this one? Looks intact, probably repairable?” The hands twisted, spinning the droid around. He now faced a Weequay pirate, wrapped in lightweight fabric and plated with sections of dull animal-skin armour down her midsection, a breathing mask covering her mouth. Her face was leathery and emaciated, but her youthful golden eyes belied her age. A second Weequay, a male in a loose tan shirt and brown pants, also equipped with a rebreather, strode up behind her.  
“It’s a battle droid… There’s a reason they just leave these things where they fall,” said the second pirate.   
“Come on! We could surely sell it to somebody. They can hold a gun and follow orders, that’s pretty useful…”  
“Your funeral. Boss won’t pay you for fixing it.”  
“I’ll do it on my own then! It’s probably cooked on the inside anyway…” The pirate woman looked over the vast wreck of the _Vicissitude_. “I don’t think much could have survived this.”

VON-324(P) perked up. If she was willing to fix him, now would be the time to suggest he only needed minor repairs.  
“My systems are functional, except for my motivator,” said the droid. He wasn’t entirely sure what compelled him to speak. He just knew he had to make contact with the Confederacy. Both Weequay looked over at him with surprise.  
“See? It’ll take me fifteen minutes,” said the pirate woman, grinning.  
“Motivators aren’t cheap,” growled the other, turning to walk away. “As long as you’re having fun, I suppose.”

\---

VON-324(P) had been gently placed in the corner of a small ship’s cargo hold. He got the impression this group of Weequay were scouts, planning to report back to base on the value of the _Vicissitude’s_ remains. He could do nothing but go with them, and hope they repaired him quickly. Florrum, home to this particular gang of pirates, would surely have a way to contact the Confederacy.

He lay next to scrap metal and loose wiring torn from dead ships. Machine components filled bins and drawers all around him, and some disabled protocol droids hung on the far wall, likely prepared for sale. Again, he was slumped against a wall, unable to move. Immobile between bins of mechanical junk. But his circumstances had dramatically improved. If there was any chance of VON-324(P) successfully following his directives, it was at the whim of these scavengers.

A fat golden bird sat in a cage on the other side of the cargo bay. It squawked occasionally, in-between bouts of ruffling its feathers and cooing at itself in a mirror. VON-324(P) focused his sensors on it. It was in stark contrast to the grey and green landscape he had grown accustomed to. The bird shone brighter amidst the brown and grey of the ship’s cargo hold. He was entranced by its movement, the small shakes of its head as it groomed, flowing into large beats of its wings as it squawked. It was like nothing he had ever seen. It flowed like oil, never sticking between movements, following no discernible pattern. VON-324(P) could barely comprehend it.

The droid didn’t notice the Weequay woman walk up to him, so complete was his reverie. She looked down at him quizzically, holding a datapad full of value reports on the various piles of junk in the cargo bay.  
“So… you’re working except for your motivator huh?” she said, snapping him back to attention.  
“Affirmative.”  
“You were in that ship when it crashed?”  
“Affirmative.”  
“And all it broke was your motivator?”  
“Negative.”  
The Weequay raised her eyebrows, a look of exasperation. “So the crash damaged more than your motivator?”  
“Negative. I was undamaged in the crash.”  
“… How did you damage your motivator?” she sighed, pacing a few steps away to look at a wall-mounted panel.  
“The Republic attacked our ship before the crash. They destroyed my motivator.” VON-324(P) had never said this many words before. He had no idea how to convince someone to help him. And he _needed_ to be repaired if he was going to contact anybody.  
“Sounds like you got off lucky,” she said, returning to the droid. “Do you have a name, or a code, or a designation or something?”  
“VON-324(P).” He enunciated every letter in a blunt monotone.   
“Uhh… Sure…” Her eyebrows raised, surprised the Confederacy attached anything unique to the B1s. “I’m gonna call you Von, okay?”  
She proceeded to scan him, and input “Von” into her datapad. The Weequay then walked off back to the cockpit, presumably to catch up with her male compatriot. VON-324(P) sat silently in the dimly lit cargo bay. He turned his attention back to the bird. The ship continued on its course towards Florrum.

\---

VON-324(P) was left alone for some time after the ship landed. The male Weequay took his bird and disappeared, while the female slowly unpacked the cargo hold. She’d managed to organise most of it into tidy, labelled bins, which she moved out on a hovering trolley. VON-324(P) could hear her negotiating trade prices with another organic outside. Once they’d settled on a price, she came back in and tossed him on the same trolley.

It was a short trip through a series of drab, brown corridors. Doors on either side were adorned with trinkets and paintings, suggesting some sort of living quarters. VON-324(P) caught the occasional glimpse inside the rooms, modest spaces filled with more trinkets and junk and the occasional piece of furniture. Most Weequay in the hall paid no attention to the woman or the busted droid she was ferrying, beyond a sideways glance. Eventually, they reached the Weequay woman’s home.

VON-324(P) was lifted up and placed with his back against one of the walls. She clamped his arms at the elbow to strong metal pincers, leaving his hands dangling towards the floor. His head drooped down to his chest, and his legs and torso hung freely.  
“Okay Von, I’ll be back to fix you after I get my pay!” she said, grinning as she slipped out the door. VON-324(P) could hear her footsteps fade, and soon he was left in silence.

The room was small, and packed with droid parts. Both to his side and across from him hung protocol droids in various states of repair. Workbenches spanned the room haphazardly, and they held a number of disembodied droid heads. The floor was carpeted with oil and bolts. Off to the side was a cosy sleeping area, slightly depressed from the main floor. So far, it had avoided consumption by the morass of droid parts dominating the majority of the house. VON-324(P) looked out with concern. It looked like she was much better at pulling droids apart than putting them together. And there was no motivator in sight.

\---

VON-324(P) hung idle for a couple of hours before the Weequay woman returned. She burst in furiously, hurling a meagre handful of credits into her sleeping quarters. They clattered to the floor as she rested her hands on a workbench, her shoulders slumped. VON-324(P) could hear her mumbling furiously to herself, knuckles white as she tightened her grip on the bench. He knew this organic behaviour. He’d seen droids smashed to pieces when organics were taken by it. VON-324(P) hoped he wasn’t next.

She took a deep breath, and sighed. Her hand moved to a drawer under the bench, and she pulled out a motivator.  
“Von…” she said. “Are you ready for some… _motivation_?” She giggled at her joke and turned around, raising the part to his sensors. VON-324(P) didn’t respond. He was not currently lacking in motivation. His body didn’t work. The premise was absurd to him. She stepped up and looked over his body.  
“Where do the motivators even go in you guys?”  
“Plate LDC-2.”  
“Oh, yeah, I can see it. I’ll have to shut you down for a bit Von. You’ll be able to move when you wake up!”  
“Roger roger.” The Weequay twisted a nob at the base of Von’s neck, and his vision went black.

It seemed only a moment later that VON-324(P) woke. He was met with the curious eyes of the Weequay woman.  
“Can you move your arms?” she said, picking up his left arm and dropping it, leaving it swaying at the elbow. VON-324(P) immediately stopped the movement.  
“My motor funct-,” started VON-324(P), before realising that his voice was different. It had grown deeper, more like the Weequay man she shared a ship with. The Weequay woman laughed.  
“Oh! I changed your vocal modulator. Nobody wants a security guard that sounds like a battle droid.”  
“Affirmative… My motor functions are operational.” VON-324(P)’s voice was still monotone, and it hid his excitement at being mobile again. The Weequay turned around, and collected a bag filled with shimmering metal.  
“I’m on my way to sell this junk, Von. I’ll be back with some paint and maybe some upgrades!” Without another word, she bounced out of the room.

VON-324(P) heard her footsteps fade as she made her way down the hall. It was quiet outside now. Possibly the other Weequay had also left for the market, or they had succumbed to biological rest. As soon as he could no longer hear her, VON-324(P) looked over at the clamps on his elbows. They looked strong enough to hold him up, but not strong enough to fight him. He pulled both arms forward, and quickly felt them snap, dropping him to the floor.  

He looked around. The same dull brown walls, but no organics in sight. The droid knew that any build-up of organic residences would likely sprout communications equipment. He needed to find an exit quietly, and hope it was an easy climb up the roof.

VON-324(P) slipped off the left, opposite of his Weequay saviour. His feet chimed softly on the metal floors, but not enough to rouse suspicion. He rounded corner after corner, repeated left turns, with no interruption. Just the same brown tunnels, broken up occasionally by a chair or puddle of water. VON-324(P) took each step at the same speed, patient and nervous, even though there was not an organic in sight.

Until VON-324(P) rounded another corner and froze. A plain door, like all the others lining the walls, marked the end of the hall. It was open partially, black-blue freedom peeking from the crack between the door and frame. VON-324(P) was desperate to reach it. Unfortunately, two Weequay were wrapped around each other, pushed to the wall next to it. The droid observed curiously. One had their back to the wall, arms wrapped around the other. Their faces pressed together. They murmured and crooned, words out of range of his sensors. _Some sort of organic conflict?_ thought VON-324(P), unsure as to who was winning. He slipped back behind the wall he’d just rounded, listening intently to the murmurs. It continued for some time, murmurs and intermittent slurping, like a hyperdrive guzzling fuel as it pushed to hyperspace. It took fifteen minutes for VON-324(P) to make out any words, something about what one was going to do to the other, before he heard a door crash open and slam shut. The halls once again returned to silence. He peeked his head out again. No more Weequay. Just an open door. He moved, motivator whirring with anticipation.

It was dark outside. Hard to make out any particular features of the planet. It reminded VON-324(P) of the green moon, dust beneath his feet and to the horizon, disturbed only by jutting rocks. It didn’t matter. He didn’t need to catalogue a vast desert this time. VON-324(P) turned and faced the Weequay structure. It was a great round dome, extending kilometres beyond the halls he had just explored. It was marked occasionally by glowing yellow windows or small rounded balconies. Most importantly for VON-324(P), it was topped with an array of satellite dishes.

The building was too steep to simply walk up, but it wasn’t smooth. It was built from thousands of metal plates, rusted and marked from years in the desert. They burst outwards and sunk inwards all over, leaving plenty of handholds. VON-324(P) reached out and grabbed onto a protruding plate. He pressed his feet into the depressions left by two receding plates. His hands were clunky, a triad of flat triangles, but their strength was surprising. Once he locked onto a plate, he wouldn’t lose his grip. He raised his free hand up to grasp and climbed.

It was slow going. It seemed the Weequay were lax on security, as nobody noticed his ascent. He had to take great care in picking handholds. Any loose plate could’ve sent him plummeting down. A small plateau appeared after fifteen quiet minutes, only a light breeze keeping him company. It was mostly bare, but a great tree of antennae and dishes grew ahead of him. At its base were a number of consoles. A Weequay kneeled at an inactive terminal, fussing over the guts of the machine. A threat. VON-324(P) pulled himself over the ledge, ducked to a crouch, and moved over behind an exposed ventilation system to his left. The Weequay was dead ahead. It didn’t look like he would be finished for some time. A blaster rifle lay idle behind him, paired with a small bag of electronic equipment. It was an equal distance between VON-324(P) and the Weequay. He moved around the ventilation system, gentle clinks of his feet desperate to give him away. The blaster was five steps away. Four. Three. The organic coughed, and swore, and slapped the console angrily. VON-324(P) froze. The blaster was almost in reach. The Weequay swore some more, but returned to his repairs. Two. One. VON-324(P)’s hand clamped around the blaster, and he drew it up to aim. The organic’s back was in full view. It was oblivious to his presence. VON-324(P) fired.

The blast was loud in the lonely night air. The mechanic slumped to the ground immediately, eyes rolling into the back of his head, blaster burn on his back barely visible in the dim light. Nervous shouting rung up from the dome below. Other Weequay had heard the shot. VON-324(P) stepped up to the console array, activating the one next to the dead organic. He would need to file his report quickly, before a search party arrived. He searched quickly for nearby vessels, finding a small Confederate corvette on the outskirts of the system. VON-324(P) opened a communications channel.

“Uhhh… Who is this?” droned the familiar voice of a B1 Battle Droid.  
“I am VON-324(P). I was assigned to the Vicissitude, and have my report,” he responded, aware of the organic din rising up towards him.  
“ _Vicissitude_? Didn’t that blow up…?” He could hear chatter between other B1s on the network. “You don’t sound like a Battle Droid.”  
“I have had my communications outlet replaced. I am ready to transmit my report.”  
“Yeah, nice try buddy… Like I’ve never been tricked by a Florrum prank before!” The other Battle Droid closed communications.

The sounds inside the dome grew. VON-324(P) could hear Weequay coming to investigate. He didn’t know what to do. He tried reinstating the communications, but he was blocked. A door behind the satellite array burst open, and organics streamed through. They were armed to the teeth, but hadn’t yet noticed him.

By the time they rounded the sensor array, they found their dead compatriot. But not VON-324(P).

\---

VON-324(P) plummeted towards the ground.

He had never fallen like this before. As the wind buffeted his face and the ground rapidly rose up towards him, it took a few seconds for VON-324(P) to work out exactly what was happening. And as he realised what was happening, he also realised it wasn’t good. The ground was growing closer, and he looked around frantically for some escape. Too late.

VON-324(P) collided with a heap of scrap metal with a massive tinkling crash. His stolen blaster bobbled out of his hand and disappeared into the sea of metal. The noise would likely have drawn even more attention from the Weequay. He drew himself up from the scrap, a few new dings and dents added to his blackened carapace. A quick diagnostic showed he was in need of light maintenance, but he was still operational. Looking around, VON-324(P) knew he would need to move quickly. A number of huge bins surrounded him, each filled with shiny silver scrap glinting in the moonlight, the spoils of hundreds of illicit scavenging adventures. At the base of the bins was a series of three metal landing pads, with three ships resting on them.

He leapt up from the scrap metal and dropped down into another bin. They were organised into a descending slope, highest at the wall of the dome and lowest where they would be added to by unloading ships. VON-324(P) jumped down from box to box. The further from the dome he got, the quieter things were, the sounds of organics replaced with the long yawns of idling engines. The ships to VON-324(P)’s left and right were silent, but the middle one would be his salvation; docked, engine idling before take-off, cargo door open, begging for a stowaway. VON-324(P) leapt down from the bins and dashed towards the loading ramp.

CLANG.

VON-324(P) was launched off his feet and flew back into the bins. He bounced off, landing flat on his stomach. Heavy footsteps approached him. VON-324(P) looked up.

A huge, block-shaped droid towered over VON-324(P). It was supported by four squat legs, gears and pistons whirring furiously under the immense size of the droid, and had one powerful arm with a grappling claw at the end extended out to VON-324(P). VON-324(P) ran a quick analysis; some kind of custom ship-loading droid.

His analysis was interrupted as the droid’s arm swung down viciously towards him, forcing him to roll off to the side. He sprung up from his prone position and looked around for anything that might help him get away. Nothing but sand and scrap metal. The cargo bay ramp still lay open ahead of him. VON-324(P) ran, trusting that he would be faster than the loading droid.

He was right. The sand beneath his feet was treacherous, dancing away from him with every footfall and threatening to topple him. But VON-324(P) made it to the edge of the ramp, loading droid whirring furiously behind him. He turned his head and dove backwards, narrowly avoiding another crushing strike from the droid’s huge arm. The loading droid stepped forward, its front two feet clicking on the cargo ramp as it raised its claw arm once again. VON-324(P) looked around desperately. A control panel sat on the wall to his left, with a bright red button labelled “BAY DOOR”. He stumbled to his feet and dove for it as the loading droids arm crashed down once again, slamming the button down with a closed fist. The ramp began to rise up, lifting the extended feet of the loading droid with it. Panicked, the loading droid began to whir even louder, its claw arm spinning as it tried to regain its balance. As the bay door continued to rise, it failed. The loading droid toppled backwards, cube-body collapsing into the sand with a dull thud, quickly followed by a louder thump as the claw arm met the ground. A cloud of sand sprung up all around it, and the intense whirring subsided into a few sad pops. Then, nothing. VON-324(P) turned around as the bay door slid shut.

The cargo bay was surprisingly well organised. Droids hung from racks attached to the left and right walls, each one labelled with operational information and a selling price. Underneath were crates, each similarly labelled, apparently full of functional electronics and rare parts. The bay itself was like a long hallway. VON-324(P) had his back to the bay door, and ahead of him on the opposite wall was a round doorway he assumed lead to the cockpit. Two ladders on the far wall also led up to a walkway wrapping around the entire cargo bay.

VON-324(P) also noticed the Weequay man standing in front of him, expression stunned, jaw dropped, and blaster aimed square at VON-324(P)’s chest. It was the same Weequay man from the other scavenger ship, though his bird was nowhere in sight.  
“You here as some kind of practical joke?” he asked, eyes narrowing. VON-324(P) didn’t take the time to answer. He darted left, behind a crate of electronics, and blaster fire erupted around him. The man didn’t seem to be a very good shot. VON-324(P) rose up from behind his crate, and darted forward down the cargo bay to the next one.   
“You’re some assassin! Hiding behind boxes instead of challenging the greatest pirate who ever lived!” yelled the Weequay. Blaster fire still crashing around him, VON-324(P) reached up to the console attached to the crate he hid behind. He activated the gravity lift, and the crate rose from the ground with a soft hiss. VON-324(P) levelled his shoulder against the crate and pushed with all his strength, sending it hurtling towards the Weequay man.

The crate barrelled into the man’s legs and lower torso, knocking the air from his lungs. He flipped forward into the air as VON-324(P) darted for a ladder. As the crate crashed into a suspended droid on the far wall, the man landed on his right shoulder with a sickening thud. He roared in pain. VON-324(P) knew he couldn’t commandeer the whole ship, especially not with the Weequay still on board, but an escape pod could at least get him somewhere.

On reaching the ladder, VON-324(P) looked through the open cockpit door. He saw the bird, still in its cage, no longer preening itself. It looked smaller than it had before. Its wings were pressed tightly against its body, its head hung down by its chest. It’s golden feather seemed dimmer, its flowing movements frozen somehow. Wide black eyes, full of sadness, looked up at VON-324(P). He looked back, puzzled, stopped dead in his tracks. The Weequay man began to stir behind him. VON-324(P) took one last look at the bird, and scaled the ladder.

As he reached the upper landing, he could hear the Weequay man barking orders, desperately trying to summon help to apprehend VON-324(P). But it was too late. VON-324(P) opened the pod doors with a few taps on a nearby terminal. He entered, and sat down at the operator’s chair. VON-324(P) was a pilot droid, and his understanding of how to operate the pod was instinctive. He flicked some switches, pressed the eject button, and shot off into the stars.


	4. Lily Pads

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> VON-324(P) crashes into another planet, and finds a storm of lasers.

Compared to the roaring, apocalyptic end of the _Vicissitude_ , the pod’s crash was rather pleasant. For twenty-three minutes, white hot streaks from atmospheric re-entry obscured all of VON-324(P)’s vision. The atmosphere then broke, revealing the lush greenery of a forest rapidly growing closer. Within three minutes, the pod struck its first tree, snapping it in half, and bounced off an additional two trees before crashing into the ground. VON-324(P) bounced, bobbed, rattled, shook, and eventually came to a stop.

The escape pod trip had been uneventful, mostly because VON-324(P) had put himself into low-power mode. Low-power mode, combined with the pod’s reserve energy supplies, would allow VON-324(P) to cruise through the galaxy for three thousand, eight hundred, and nine days, with the ability to return to full functionality in the event of changing circumstances. It took forty six days for circumstances to change, as a speck on the horizon grew to a dot, then a spot, then revealed itself to be a shining green-and-blue planet. As the pod was drawn into orbit, VON-324(P) returned to regular power mode. And now, as the pod smoked and sizzled, he removed himself from his safety harness and exited.

A huge gash was carved through the forest canopy through to the pod’s final resting place. Trees along the gash were split and splintered, and many more trees had been uprooted entirely as the pod slashed across the ground. A deep gulley now marked the space where the trees once stood, thirty metres of thrown dirt and discombobulated roots. The air was still thick with muck and smoke. Beyond the sizzling of rapidly cooling metal, the woods were silent.

VON-324(P) searched his protocols for… Something. Something to do in a situation like this one. Whoever made him had left protocols for Jedi, protocols for clones, protocols for fixing the fuel lines on Trade Federation ships, protocols for the navigation systems on Techno Union cruisers, protocols for replacing droids destroyed by angry commanding officers. Nothing pertaining to the use of escape pods, or the escaping of escape pods, or the escaping after the escaping of escape pods. As VON-324(P) ran through protocol, a group of organics emerged at the foot of the gash.

VON-324(P) couldn’t tell what the organics were. Their shape was obscured by large, hooded ponchos. Their faces were covered by goggles with bright green eyes, and their mouths were protected by wrapped fabric. VON-324(P) stood numb, protocolling, at the end of the gash, and they spotted him near instantly.   
“Hello there! You alright?” called a voice at the head of the party, waving a friendly hand. A second member placed their hand on the first’s shoulder.   
“That’s a battle droid!” they shouted, disgust evident. A moment’s pause, and the group of organics drew their blasters.

The first green streak of laser fire zipped past VON-324(P)’s head, pinging off the smoking hull of the escape pod. Another streak followed soon after, hitting the dirt at his feet and spraying a cloud into the air. The streaks soon became overwhelming. VON-324(P) didn’t need a protocol to know how to turn and run.

VON-324(P) dove over the crashed escape pod, landing on his front, and gathered his spindly limbs into a sprint. Green lasers filled the air around him. The organics had given chase, and their feet fell heavy and clumsy as they tried to follow VON-324(P)’s path. He ducked under an extended tree branch as a blast blackened the space where his head had been. Blaster fire showered the forest with green sparks and chips of bark. As he ran, the heavy footfalls behind him began to diminish. VON-324(P) could see the end of the forest ahead of him, a city rising up in the distance.

One last bright green bolt flew true, catching VON-324(P) in the left leg and throwing him to the grassy floor of the forest. A cheer erupted behind him. VON-324(P) rolled to his back and assessed the damage. His left leg was hanging from his body by the wires. Battle droid first aid was another protocol VON-324(P) was missing, but he could see that the damage was closer to an organic dislocation than a broken bone. Still, reconnecting his leg and hip them would take time, and the organics footfalls were growing louder. VON-324(P) looked up. A squadron of vulture droids, painted in the blue and silver of the Separatists, streaked towards the city in an arrow formation. They were far above the forest, and became smaller and smaller as they flew. VON-324(P) gazed up at the pillowy white trails they left behind as the organics spotted him, flat on his back and unable to move. As they moved towards him, blasters raised, VON-324(P) realised something. The head of the vulture droid arrow formation was missing. He looked back into the forest, and saw the organics emerging around blackened trees.

With a roar of engines, the missing vulture droid rounded into view, flying into the forest from the city side. Vicious red lasers erupted from the slits on its chassis, and the forest disappeared under a shower of light as the organics responded in kind. The vulture droid’s wings slid opened, revealing a row of missiles on either side, which roared off towards the organics’ position. Each missile resulted in a boom, a flare of fire, screams and shouts of organics. VON-324(P) could hear the organics retreating as the vulture droid flew over their position, decimating the forest with laser fire. The sounds of the fight became quieter, further in the distance.

VON-324(P) snapped his attention back to his leg. He moved the wires out of the way, realigned the socket between hip and leg, and slowly guided them back together. With a click, they reconnected. VON-324(P)’s quick diagnostic showed functionality had returned. He pulled himself back to his feet. As he stood to his full height, his leg emitted a low hiss. Piston not properly aligned, perhaps, or a crack in the pressure balance pipe. He would need to do a proper diagnostic later. VON-324(P) stepped forward, leg still hissing, but holding his weight. He took another step, and heard the _woosh_ of a landing vulture droid behind him.

“Halt. Identify yourself,” said the vulture droid. Its voice was the whiny, electronic monotone of all Separatist-aligned droids.   
“VON-324(P), assigned to the Vicissitude.” VON-324(P) no longer had the whiny, electronic monotone of all Separatist-aligned droids.    
“The Vicissitude was destroyed, please restate. You lack the colour designation of a Pilot-class battle droid. Detecting vocal impairment in B1 unit,” said the vulture droid, rattling off each issue in a tart monotone.   
“I was damaged in the Vicissitude crash and escaped. I was repaired, and my voice was changed. I travelled here via escape pod, which crashed, resulting in damage to my factory-issue colouration.” The vulture droid considered this information for a moment.   
“Likelihood of surviving _Vicissitude_ crash: 1.34%. Likelihood of finding repair outside of Confederacy of Independent Systems space 2.5%. Likelihood of finding planet with Confederacy of Independent Systems presence to land on: 23.191%. Likelihood of surviving escape pod crash 9.01%. Likelihood of story: 0.000000699986%.” The vulture droid paused for another second.    
“Protocol suggests B1 unit must be destroyed.” The droid skittered a metre backwards, its cannon slits flaring with red light. A laser bolt flashed towards VON-324(P)’s position. He dove to the right.

VON-324(P) hit a wall of shrubs between a pair of trees, crashed through, and found himself rolling down a previously unseen hill. The vulture droid rose up over the shrubs, still firing blaster bolts, blackening the plant life around him as VON-324(P) rolled. Spinning, VON-324(P) could see the vulture droid disappearing into the distance. He did not see the approaching cliff.

A short cliff. VON-324(P) fell only a few metres, landing at the bottom of a small ravine. Rock walls rose up three metres on either side of him. On one side, the ravine floor rose up towards the edge of the forest, providing an easy exit. On the other, the ravine snaked away, further into the forest’s heart. VON-324(P) considered the smoking city, the squadron of vulture droids, the lone vulture droid that had decided on his destruction.

  1. Secure the safety of allied organics.
  2. Assess and destroy further threats.
  3. Report to the Confederacy.



There was no step 4. If he couldn’t report to the Confederacy, if his allies assessed him as the threat and went to destroy him and he had no allied organics or any allies and he could barely secure his own safety and there were no protocols for woods or forests or changed voices or scuffed paint or-. VON-324(P) got up off the ravine floor, and headed further into the forest.

It took thirty minutes before the ravine dissolved into a clearing. VON-324(P) walked in, rock walls giving way to a ring of trees. Another ravine rose off to his right. The clearing was filled with bright purple flowers, twisting petals curling around one another, pale green stalks rising up from stout, broad-leaf shrubs. They surrounded a small pond, one topped with lily pads and more flowers, these ones floating and golden and drinking in the sun that danced down through the leafy canopy above. VON-324(P) was reminded of the golden bird, its bright feathers burnt into his circuits. He stepped forward again, and dropped to his knees at the lip of the pond.

The water was still, slight ripples emanating only when the wind nudged a lily pad to or fro. VON-324(P) gazed down into it, and saw a great brown bird staring back. A bird with a sparse smattering of odd-looking green feathers. Not like the golden bird, not quite, but… VON-324(P) reached out for it. The bird did the same, its broad fingers reaching up towards his. His fingers touched the water, touched the bird. The water-bird shook and rippled, its brown mixing with the green of the water-trees below. VON-324(P) fell back, and the water-bird disappeared too. He looked down at his torso, saw that he was now brown instead of tan, saw the twigs and leaves sticking out of him. He looked back into the water, and the water-bird came back. VON-324(P) raised his right hand, and the water-bird raised its left. VON-324(P) did the same with his left, and the bird raised its right. The water had stopped rippling. In the calm pond, VON-324(P) saw himself for the first time. But he also saw a strange, brown bird. For some time, he stared.

A frog hopped from the rim of the pond to a lily pad. Bright green, with huge teal eyes and red dots for toes. VON-324(P) gazed at it. It shimmied across the pad and sprung, legs spread out behind it, landing with a soft _pop_ on another pad. Shimmy, spring, _pop_. Shimmy, spring, _plop_. The frog had missed the lily pad, slipping off the edge and drifting down into the water below. And suddenly the water was alive.

Fish darted from holes along the side of the pond, fish in blue and red and green and silver, each the size of VON-324(P)’s head, each racing towards the frog. Crabs rose from the silt at the bottom of the pod, shaking their bodies and revealing deep crimson shells, snapping up at the fish as they moved. Small pink shrimp zipped out of the clouds of silt the crabs threw off. An eel wound its way lazily through the chaos, its veins showing up electric blue on its black body, sucking up shrimp as they zipped. VON-324(P) couldn’t tell a fish from a crab or a shrimp from an eel. To VON-324(P), it seemed that the world below him had just erupted into colours, colours he’d never seen before, like the shimmering of light on oil had discovered a life of its own. He was riveted, hands gripping the edge of the pond, sensors completely focused downwards.

Eventually, the pond became still once again. The fish and eel returned to their holes, and the crabs and shrimp burrowed back under a light blanket of mud. Lily pads and golden flowers, bounced around during the chaos, drifted to a stop. The frog was nowhere to be found. VON-324(P) remained staring at the water. Something had clicked into place. He wasn’t sure what, exactly, but there was a definite _something_ about all the colour and the movement. The things he did know, about the Republic and about the Confederacy, didn’t mean very much. The Republic shot green lasers, the Confederacy shot red lasers, but they both seemed to shoot at him. Nobody would listen to his report on the _Vicissitude_. Ally and threat were no longer clear constructs in his programming.  

But the colours, and the movement. The golden bird wasn’t unique. VON-324(P) found colour and movement here, in a pond in the middle of nowhere. Colour and movement, different to blaster fire and protocol, could be anywhere. VON-324(P) dipped his hand in the pond again, waving it around, but it seemed the underwater ruckus was truly over. He rose to his feet, and looked to the ravine to his right. He set off down a rocky hallway. Colour and movement could be anywhere.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Let me know what I can do better in comments! This whole idea was inspired by some fan art by TytoAlba found here: http://ttyto-alba.tumblr.com/post/118192179616/may-the-fourth-be-with-you-a-little-late-but-i


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